Isla del Sol

When I know I am going on a hike, there are a few basic things that I would make sure that I had: two bottle of water, thick hiking socks, a hiking partner or at least a cell phone, a map and something energizing to eat.

The trick about yesterday was that I didn't realize I was going on a hike, and so had packed with me...none of those things. My pack consisted of two half-filled bottles of carbonated beverages that I hadn't finished because I thought they tasted like metallic, ankle socks, a cell phone with no charge, a sketch of the island from my guidebook, and four granola bars.

Disaster.


How'd I get here? Let's rewind a bit. To get to Isla del Sol, you have to take a one and half hour boat ride from Copacabana, which leaves only twice a day: at 8:00 am and 1:30 pm. On route to Copacabana, I had met two English-speaking, middle-aged Bolivian men, who I couldn't quite decide whether they were kind old guys taking pity on the American girl with broken Spanish or hardened criminals ready to rob then murder me at any minute (hey, you can take the girl out of Newark...).

Anyway, with only one route to Isla del Sol, I couldn't lose these guys. We had lunch together (fresh trout from Lake Titicaca), took the ferry to Isla del Sol together, hiked to the peak of the mountain together, got neighboring rooms in the same hostel together, had dinner together. You get the drift.



(In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit here, that if I didn't slightly suspect that this was an elaborate scam to take advantage of an American tourist, my time with the Bolivians would have been wholly pleasant. These men told me stories about ancient Incas, like how the Isla del Sol was predominately inhabited by men and Isla del luna - which was about an hour away - was populated by woman, and archeologists still can't quite figure out how Incas traveled between them. They also told me about how the sorry Bolivian soccer team managed to topple the mighty Argentinians because it was a home game and at this altitude the opposing team literally ran out of breath. They also told me of how they both lived illegally in New York for years and how they cried on September 11th when they saw the towers fall.)

Despite how interesting and kind these men seemed, I had to ditch them. So I got up around 7am the next morning (which wasn't so hard given that now that I am older I have developed more sophisticated fears of sleeping in hostels...bed bugs, fleas, lice), checked out, and decided to take what I thought was a gingerly 2 hour walk across the island and then grab the 10:30 ferry back to Copacabana.



The trail was clearly visible, but because it was so early, the only people on it were me and farmers herding either mules, sheep, and in one instance, wild hogs. At first I enjoyed the quiet of the walk. The stillness and expansiveness of the blue waters, the sounds of the rocks under my feet, the stunning view of the Cordilla Real in the background. But as I walked I realized that I was getting farther and farther away from the docks where the ferries were. Being the map-less optimist that I am, I thought that if I continued forward there might be some shortcut that looped me back to the docks. And maybe there was. But as I got very near to what appeared to be the most northern tip of the island, I was chased off the trail by a small pack of yapping stray dogs.

To make, an already long story short, I ended up at the docks at around noon, parched, tired, and hungry, with blistered feet and four hours of waiting time till the next ferry. But as I laid on the sun-soaked grass and looked out across the waters, I can't say that I wasn't happy.